


Come hither, Sleep

by LittleSammy



Series: Dreams [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-27
Updated: 2010-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ziva comes up with a cure for Tony's nightmares. This is a sequel to "Burning Bright" in which an angsty night was spent in Paris , and you won't get a bunch of references that were established there if you haven't read it first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come hither, Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: NCIS, starting a few days after the episode 7x13 "Jet Lag" and spanning about two weeks, until just after 7x15 "Jack-Knife". Yes, spoilers for these eps and the beginning of season 7.
> 
> This is a follow-up to "Burning Bright" (in which an angsty night was spent in Paris), and you won't get a bunch of references that were established there if you haven't read it first.
> 
> warnings &amp; rating: Tony/Ziva, some bad words... oh, yes, and a generous helping of smut. Seriously. No soft fade outs this time because a certain crazy Israeli chick forced me to give her some real action. *facepalms*

She can see the exact moment the dreams return. Two days after Paris, his face is still all relaxed and peaceful, and the next, there are dark shades around his eyes and he has trouble looking at her when she asks him about it.

 

She insists, and he brushes it off with a shrug, like all the other things Tony brushes off with a shrug, and it makes her frown that they are back to this so easily. Still, she lets it slide the first time.

 

When he shows up the next day looking even worse, she sticks to his side like she is glued to his hip, watches his every move intently until he snaps and yells at her to just let it go because he is fine. Which tells her he isn't. So she packs a few things that same night.

 

He takes his time in finishing up the paperwork the next day, and she, in turn, takes great care not to watch his procrastination too obviously. Eventually, though, when everyone else has gone home and the bullpen is deserted, she shuts down her computer.

 

She hears his sigh of relief and knows that he expects her to leave him alone now, too, so of course he frowns when she grabs her backpack, comes over to his desk and puts her hand to his shoulder.

 

"Let's get you home, Tony," she says very softly, and she feels his muscles flex under his shirt. Her fingers knead his shoulder slowly, willing the growing tension back down, and he sighs and rubs his tired eyes. She sits down on the edge of his desk, and then she smiles a smile at him that doesn't quite manage to cover up the concern in her eyes. "I'll even let you drive."

 

He pushes his chair back angrily at that, and her hand falls off his shoulder when he gets up and meets her eyes with a carefully guarded expression. "I don't need a babysitter."

 

"No, you don't," she replies quietly, not letting herself be brushed off that easily. "But you need someone to help keep the demons at bay."

 

He takes in a deep breath, and just from looking at him she knows how tense he is by now. He doesn't move, doesn't step back further, but he still looks like he is miles away from her. "I don't think a pity fuck's gonna help with that," he finally sneers at her, breaks the eye contact and turns to shut down his own computer.

 

"Tony. I am not offering sex."

 

"What is it you're offering then, sweetcheeks?" His voice is as sharp as a knife, and the only reason she doesn't flinch and back away from his icy cold attitude is that she has seen what brings all of this on.

 

"Company. Call it a night watch, if you will, but I noticed that you slept better after you fell asleep with me in Paris."

 

"Not gonna happen," he presses out through gritted teeth while he picks up his backpack and stuffs a few things into it.

 

"Tony," she says, and she gets up so she can meet his eyes. "Please."

 

That one word makes him look at her, really look at her, and for the span of a heartbeat, his control shatters and there is a rush of mad thoughts chasing each other behind his eyes. And then he shakes his head, and the wards fall back in place.

 

She doesn't let him back away this time, though, because that is the one thing she owes him and the one thing she can give him so easily. So she takes a step towards him and closes the gap between them.

 

"I owe you my life," she says, and his lips twitch with a suppressed reply. "I owe you _this_ life. So just this once, let me have your back," she continues while she puts her hand to his chest. His heartbeat races against her palm, so familiar by now that it feels eerie. And when she looks up to meet his gaze again, she knows she has made the right decision. And she whispers, "Let me be your off switch."

 

His pulse is hard against her skin, and she loses track of time while she waits for his acceptance. And eventually, he nods.

 

*** *** ***

 

Going to bed together is awkward the first time.

 

They get along well while they sit on the couch and talk and share a drink, but the moment Ziva gets out of the bathroom, wearing only sweatpants and a spaghetti strap top, something shifts, and Tony looks downright uncomfortable. She walks on and does her best to ignore it, but just from the way he glances at his bed sideways, she knows that he has not had anyone over in a long time. And now she finally gets nervous, too.

 

"What's your side?" she asks, and he shrugs. She turns her head to look at him over her shoulder and doesn't know what to make of his expression.

 

"I toss a lot," he replies after a while. "Just pick yours."

 

She picks the left side, out of habit and because it is closer to the door, and while she slides under the sheets, she sees him still standing in the doorway, looking itchy and like he rather wants to run than join her. She sighs, leans over and kills the nightlight. "Do whatever you want over there, but I'm getting some sleep."

 

It doesn't take long until the mattress shifts a bit underneath her as he settles on his side, and she opens her eyes again and watches him while he tries to get comfortable and fails epically. He ends up with the sheets drawn up to his chest and staring at the ceiling. Frowning slightly, she turns to her side to face him, and eventually, he sighs and mirrors her.

 

"Sorry," he murmurs. "This is just a bit weird."

 

"It is," she agrees, and that makes him crack a smile. And because it feels like the right thing to do, she reaches out and puts her hand over his, her fingers curling up and entwining with his.

 

He stares down at their hands, keeping very still under her touch. Then he clears his throat. "Listen, this may sound bad..." He hesitates, and she runs her thumb over his skin softly. "Would you mind terribly if I happened to... y'know... touch you? 'cause I'm not sure I can totally avoid that tonight, and I don't want to wake up with my hands chopped off..."

 

She tugs at his hand before he has even finished the sentence, lifts his arm and draws it around her waist while she slides over to his side and turns into his embrace until he is all spooned up against her back. She feels the deep breath he takes, and it makes her wonder if that was such a good idea after all. Then he breathes out again, pulls her closer and presses his face into her neck. And it feels so right to have him wrapped around her that it is almost scary.

 

"Sleep well," she says, and her pulse is doing a tell-tale little sidestep that speaks of the next hour she will most likely spend awake in his arms.

 

"You, too," he replies quietly, then brushes his thumb against her hand and adds, "And I wish you dreams of cherry trees in full bloom."

 

And she laughs and relaxes in his arms and thinks that maybe it won't be an hour after all. "I don't do cherry blossoms," she says, and her thumb strokes the back of his hand.

 

*** *** ***

 

She wakes slowly, feeling incredibly lazy and relaxed, and she didn't dream, of course. But apparently, neither did Tony, and when she turns her head, she finds him already wide awake by her side, propped up on one elbow and watching her with a strange expression that she can't quite figure out.

 

"You were supposed to sleep," she complains and hits his chest playfully, and he catches her hand and laughs.

 

"I did."His face gets all serious too soon, and he doesn't even notice that he is still touching her hand when he says, "You were right."

 

"I noticed," she murmurs and can't help the small smile that's tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 

*** *** ***

 

She leaves her toothbrush, and he doesn't object. He does hesitate for a second when she asks him after work to make a stop at her apartment so she can pick up fresh clothes, but she pretends not to notice, and so he nods and does as she asks.

 

By the time they reach his apartment they are both so tired that there is no time left for awkward moments. They just take turns brushing their teeth and then head for the bed, yawning.

 

And when she tells him to sleep well, he slips his arm around her waist, presses a soft kiss to her neck and says, "I wish you dreams of sun-drunken butterflies."

 

And she laughs and says, of course, "I don't do butterflies."

 

*** *** ***

 

It turns into a weird little ritual for them. He keeps coming up with sweet and fluffy imageries that manage to make her laugh every time because they are so incredibly silly... and yet, they are strangely endearing. He wants her to dream of fields of flowers and bunnies and ice cream. Once he asks her for the warmth of the midsummer sun on her skin, and she is almost sad that she has to answer that she doesn't do midsummer, either. It would have been a nice dream.

 

And one time, when she has been sleeping at his place for well over a week, he kisses her neck again and she feels his smile against her skin as he says, "I wish you dreams of wild, hot monkey sex."

 

"I don't... oh, nice try, DiNozzo!" she huffs and jams her elbow into his ribs. He laughs so hard at her reaction that she can't help but chuckle, too. And with a half-hearted "Idiot!" muttered softly under her breath she snuggles into his embrace, thinking that maybe she is getting a little too used to this.

 

Coincidentally, this is the first night in a long, long time that she actually dreams. And because she remembers the dream so vividly, meeting Tony's eyes in the morning is a slightly awkward thing for her.

 

*** *** ***

 

"Meet you downstairs?" Tony asks, and she just nods and finishes up her email while he rushes out already. When she packs up her stuff, she feels McGee watching her, and she looks up to meet his curious frown.

 

"What?" she asks, and that one word makes him jump like he has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

 

"Uhm. Nothing," he says, starts typing, but stops after just a few letters and continues to stare at her, probably because Tony has rubbed off on him curiosity-wise after all these years. "Is there something I should know? You and Tony, I mean."

 

"Not at all, McGee," she replies smoothly and wonders if that was a lie.

 

"Okayyy," he says and resumes typing. Stops after two words. Looks at her. "Then what's all that secret meeting-after-work stuff about?"

 

She blinks. "I am merely sleeping at his place currently," she says and regrets it the instant she sees McGee's expression flip-flop. "It is not what you think. It just helps him relax..."

 

"Oh, I bet it does..." McGee mutters, then raises his hands in defense when he realizes he has said that one out loud. "I'm sorry, Ziva, I..."

 

"McGee, get a grip. I am not _sleeping_ with him, I am merely..." She runs out of words and waves her hands instead.

 

"What, sleeping _with_ him?" he continues her sentence, and she nods.

 

"Yes! Exactly!" she replies, then adds, slightly exasperated, "He just had some really bad nights after Somalia. Trust me, I would do the very same for you."

 

His face slips again at that, and that leads her to suspect that he has gotten the totally wrong impression after all.

 

*** *** ***

 

When she tells Tony about the exchange she had with McGee, he mutters a soft curse under his breath and gets itchy, and she feels strange when they eventually agree to lay it low for a while.

 

It seems like it's a perfectly reasonable decision, too, since his nightmares have not plagued him for a while now. It still feels weird when he drives her to her own apartment to drop her off for the night, and he behaves just as awkward as she feels. He settles for pushing back her hair eventually and saying, "Sleep well", and she only nods and watches him drive away. There is a strange feeling building up in her chest, but she puts it aside for now. For all is well, isn't it?

 

Her apartment has the feel of a place being in shock over the sudden and unexpected return of its master, and she sighs and drops her overnight bag on her couch. And since there is not much left to do except unpack, she goes to bed early, thinking that in the grand scheme of things, this is the moment where she should feel glad to have her nights back to herself.

 

She isn't glad, though, especially when she realizes that even the most interesting dreams can be a rather depressing thing when there is no warm, strong body around to wake up to.

 

*** *** ***

 

When she asks him how his night was, he shrugs and says it was okay. Not great, but okay, and there have been no bad dreams, so nothing to worry about. He thinks that maybe the massage chair he has fallen asleep in has something to do with it, so he'll try it again that night.

 

She nods mechanically at his words, and says that she is glad, and tries her best to hide the irritation that rises in her gut.

 

*** *** ***

 

The day after Damon left for Cleveland, Tony shows up at work looking all rumpled and unshaven, and Ziva's heart skips a beat for all the wrong reasons.

 

"Bad dreams?" she asks him quietly after he has downed an extra-extra large coffee, and he shakes his head and says that no, he has just slept badly. And not very much at all. "Still abusing the massage chair?" she suspects with a slight frown.

 

He shakes his head again and rubs his tired eyes. "Moved back to the bed. Friggin empty, though." Her breath catches in her throat, and he notices it and glances at her sideways. Twists the empty paper cup in his hands and finally admits, "I miss you."

 

She meets his eyes and all she can think of suddenly is the warmth of his arms wrapped around her in the morning. And she says, "You kept my toothbrush?"

 

He nods.

 

*** *** ***

 

Going to bed is so much worse this time around. Because there is no deeper psychological need involved, no call for comfort, only the simple fact that they both like sleeping with the other. And that seemingly simple fact makes it all the more complicated.

 

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" she mutters eventually and shakes her head at them behaving like a couple of teenagers, and he laughs and agrees. And she draws his arm around her waist and settles back against his chest, and just like that, everything falls back into place, and it is okay. She takes a deep breath, and while he tightens his arms around her, she feels him press his nose into her neck. And it feels so good that it is just a tiny bit scary.

 

"Ziva?" he murmurs after a long while, and she can tell that he isn't sure if she's still awake and maybe hopes that she isn't.

 

"Mhm?" she slurs and waits for his goodnight wish because she is curious what he came up with today. And because she has missed those, too.

 

He is quiet for a few moments longer, and she turns her head a bit until she feels his cheek against hers. And he sighs. "I wish you a dream that makes you smile like back in the old days," he says.

 

She is glad that his bedroom is so dark because that way she doesn't have to worry about the tears.

 

*** *** ***

 

A mouth against hers, sharing her breath. A hard body around her, on top of her, pressing her into the sheets, and she clings to it, moves with it, shudders with every gasp that is drawn from her throat. She knows it's a dream, oh yes, but it is such a good one this time, feels so close to the real thing that somewhere in the back of her head she thinks she might even get off on it.

 

"Ziva," a hoarse voice whispers close to her, and she groans because he shouldn't be talking to her, he should concentrate on fucking her.

 

And a not-dream hand touches her shoulder, and she wakes so abruptly at that she has to gasp for air. Stares into Tony's face, too close and too awake, lit by a sliver of moonlight coming in through the window. She feels her cheeks burn because the dream still clings to her and makes her reel with wild thoughts she can't brush away. She swallows hard and licks her lips, and she sees his gaze drop to her mouth when she does.

 

"I know it's usually nightmares you wake people from, but..." He hesitates, and she watches him, still trying to get her breathing back under control and failing. "Listen, this is... I mean, seeing you, hearing you and..." He clears his throat. "... and smelling you... it's a bit too much when I can't participate..."

 

She turns to him, tries to make sense out of his words and can't because only the trigger words reach her brain. And that's when she moves closer to him, and it's not really a conscious decision at all, but more like the natural order of things. She feels the heat that spreads from his body because yes, oh yes, he is very much affected by her. Her lips brush his, and she feels him shudder, feels him try to back away from her and crawl into her at the same time.

 

"Participate," she orders him softly and kisses him, and his breath catches in his throat. His mouth moves against hers, and then his tongue slips between her lips, tastes her, and she groans at the sensation, and that makes him gasp and draw back as if her touch has burned him.

 

"This... no..." he says and tries to keep her at a distance. He does a lousy job at that because his hands slide all over her body rather than pushing her away. "I don't want to get lucky just because you got all warmed up by dreaming about prettyboy..."

 

"What?" she asks, baffled, and that makes him lean back to get a good look at her face. He sees her frown and mild confusion, and all that's missing now is a giant blinking light bulb over his head.

 

"Not prettyboy?" His hands slide over her body while he watches her, intrigued now, and his thumb finds her nipple poking through the thin shirt she wears, brushes across it, and it makes her gasp.

 

"Am I in his bed, making enticing offers?" she replies and moves closer to him again. And this time, he doesn't stop her. "At least I hope they are enticing..." she murmurs against his lips. She wants him so badly now that she starts to rub herself shamelessly against his body. "Or do I have to work on my level of... enticity...?"

 

He struggles for breath, but still has to declare, "That's not a word."

 

And she laughs and slides her leg between his, and she feels him, all of him, so hard and willing and lusting for her that her own body shudders in response. She raises her hands to his face, makes him look at her while she slides her thigh against his cock. "And that is not arguing against me," she breathes, and he nods and kisses her and, oh...

 

She falls into his embrace so easily, and now that he is no longer resisting, he is something else, and she wonders idly why they haven't done this sooner. She's drowning in him, and he is the one thing she can cling to, so she does. It's almost painful when she has to let go of him for a moment so that he can get her sweatpants off, and when he takes the opportunity to run his fingers slowly over her skin, a whimper flows from her lips that is just this side of embarrassing.

 

"No... just..." she begs, and he looks up at her, stroking her ever so softly until she throws her head back and moans. Weeks of foreplay, and she can't take much more of it.

 

She feels him push her shirt up as he moves back up her body, and his chest against her bare skin makes her head spin and distracts her from the way he slides against her... into her, taking her, finally. She hears his gasp and has to bite her lip because this is too much, too intense, and she can't even call it fucking because this, as it turns out, is so much more.

 

He moves more fiercely now, and that brings him so deep into her that she mutters a curse in Hebrew under her breath. She can't help it then, her hands clench on his shoulders and her fingernails dig into his back, and he gasps and murmurs, "Oh, fuck..." And she feels him tense as he comes, hard.

 

"I'm sorry," he mutters eventually, breathing harshly. "It's been a while..."

 

She nods, eyes closed, still biting her lip to keep from screaming because her body is beyond mere frustration now. She keeps moving though because she wants to feel him inside her as long as possible, and that makes him draw in a deep breath and lean over her, shaking, because right now her touch brings too much sensation. The movement pushes him even deeper into her, and she whimpers with need. Wants him so bad it is painful, and right now, she doesn't care anymore how lascivious she behaves.

 

He shudders, and his hands come up to stroke her thighs, her sides. When he reaches her breasts and rubs her nipples hard, she jerks under him and throws her head back, and that is the moment when they both realize that he is still very hungry and still very hard inside her.

 

Her eyes widen, and she leans forward and licks his lips. He plays with her mouth for a while, then wraps one hand into her hair and pulls her head back to suck on her neck. "That long a while?" she asks, a low laugh deep in her throat.

 

"_Really_ long while," he moans, kisses her hard and eventually fucks her even harder until she comes.

 

Twice.

 

*** *** ***

 

They are almost late for work the next morning, and Ziva keeps thinking that they must have forgotten some of their morning routines after all because they did so much other stuff instead. Her hair is a mess, flowing freely over her shoulders, because Tony kept running his hands through it and playing with it, and she will have to pull it into a tight knot soon to keep Gibbs from noticing her disheveled state. She has no idea how she will get through the day, though, and she is close to hoping for a particularly gruesome murder to take her mind off of her... partner. The simple word sounds so different suddenly.

 

She watches Tony drop off his backpack and then head to Vance's office because the big man has left a note on his desk, and that gives her the opportunity to go through some emails and get used to her own work routines again without having his eyes on her to distract her.

 

An extra-large cup appears on her desk, and the scent of her favorite tea rises from it, bringing a happy sigh from her. "Thank you, McGee," she says, takes the cup and smiles at him.

 

"You're welcome, Ziva," he replies sweetly and leans back against the folder rack behind her desk, crossing his arms in front of himself and watching her with a grin that makes his face seem much wider than it actually is. "Had a good night?"

 

Her back is very straight all of a sudden, and for some reason she types a little faster. "I have had worse," she answers non-committally, not looking at McGee.

 

"Uh-hum." The sound he makes is strangely ambiguous, and she can feel his smirk without even turning her head. "So. You still sure you'd do the same for me?"

 

She misses intentionally, and obviously McGee knows her too well because the letter opener whizzing past his ear does nothing to wipe the downright evil grin from his face. Her eyes narrow at his obvious glee, and she hisses, "Do not make me tell Abby that you just asked that!"

 

That kills his amusement rather effectively, which is just as well because that is the moment Gibbs chooses to walk in.

 

"Rough night?" he asks, glancing at her with an eyebrow going up.

 

She breathes out slowly, wondering what exactly is giving her away so easily today. "Somewhat, yes," she says then and gives him her most radiant smile. Because Gibbs is unfoolable anyway.

 

*** *** ***

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points for those of you who get the title reference without googling it. ;)
> 
> Oh, and yes - it is physically possible. Very much so. *coughs*


End file.
